


All I want is (all I need)

by tukimecca



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Infinity War AU, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 03:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15110465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukimecca/pseuds/tukimecca
Summary: A day before Taeyong's birthday, Jaehyun thinks about Taeyong; about their past, their fight, their future, their wedding.





	All I want is (all I need)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Taeyong!
> 
> Apologize for any mistakes, timeline or place inaccuracy. Thanks to the ever so amazing Ms. Smith. Without her, this fic is probably beyond coherency.
> 
> Understanding of what happened in, especially the end of, Avengers 3: Infinity War is necessary. Welp, this is an NCT canon(?)-linear AU of Infinity War after all. If I can't write JH as Steve and TY as Bucky, then at least I can do this. You don't have to understand Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) as a whole, but it's even better if you did. Please don't forget to watch "Ant Man and The Wasp" when it's available in your country!
> 
> That has been me and my MCU agenda, back to the birthday boy; happy birthday! May this year be a better year for you.

_But If you loved me_   
_Why did you leave me_   
_Take my body_ _  
Take my body_

All I Want - Kodaline

:::

I knew, ever since I was born that day, February 14th, 1997, from my loving mother and thoughtful father, that I was born to love someone.

I always wondered who it’d be. I always wondered what kind of girl she would be. _Girl_ , because girls seem to always meet boys, and boys, they never met another boy.

I thought, 15 years later, that I might be the first boy who did. Meet another boy. And then as I grew older, I realized that it’s not that boys seem to always meet girls; it’s just how it had been made it out to be. I discovered that in this world there were countless other boys who meet another boy. They just hid it, kept it under wraps like it’s a dirty little secret. But when I saw you the first time that day, I refused to believe that I should keep you as my dirty little secret.

How could you, how could you and your flower-shaped scar under your eye, how could you and your diamond-cut jaw, how could you, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire 15 years of life, and will always be in the years to come, be anything less than beautiful, let alone dirty?

The day  I saw you for the first time is one of the many days that I like - _love_ , to relive, to recall, as I lie alone in my bed with you in my arms.

Tonight, approximately forty minutes to midnight. Tonight, two thousand and four hundred seconds to midnight, is June 30th. Outside, the moon struggles to complete its rotation. Time, it waxes along. Night, it goes. And here I am, alone in my room. With you in my arms. You can hear me but you cannot talk to me, and I think it’s okay. I think it’s okay as long as I have you, for I have sworn to you that I will have you in any way I’m allowed to have you. I have loved you, and I will always love you in every single way I’m allowed to. I think about you, as it is my favorite way to spend the night. The night that’s too lonely to sleep without you, or the night too exciting to sleep with you.

So, I let myself think of our first meeting, our first words to each other. We were young. We were foolish, but we were never carefree. There’s already too much to carry on our small shoulders, and you always insisted on carrying the most. I wanted to tell you that it’s not a competition, but I didn’t, because it is. We met each other not to fit right but to fight. We met each other and with a smile, we said good night, but we fall asleep always fearing in the morning we would wake up with a snake bite.

And I, I who was rooted to the spot when I first saw you, believed, foolishly, that I met you, who’d later came to haunt me in my dreams every night, because I was meant to be your satellite.

I was speechless as you introduced yourself. And perhaps I couldn’t remember what you were saying at the time because I was too busy staring at you; precisely, at that flesh-colored scar blooming under your eye. I remember thinking, and sometimes, I still think, about how much I’d love to not only touch, but dip my tongue inside that lovely dent. Had you known back then about this desire of mine so crude? What would you say, since I knew you always thought of me as a prude?

Now, you know. Now, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done that to you. Now, I’ve held you in my arms, thinking of how my thoughts haven’t changed since then. Since I saw you, since you said your name to me -  surely, surely, at the time, you were casting your spell on me. You’re the witch. The wizard. You have the magic, and I was enchanted.

Perhaps I’d been enchanted before then, because as the days went by, I began to think that maybe I was enchanted to meet you, just like how I came to believe that I was born for loving you. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s one of your wicked spells, to turn me into someone so foolish. Magic, it defies everything, every existing law tested and proven. Especially the law of gravity, because ever since I met you, my gravity has shifted to you. I’m no longer pulled by the core of this planet; I’m pulled by you, like a satellite around the planet, like planets around the sun. And my orbit, it seems to be the only thing that’s true apart from my love for you.

I have told you. Maybe. That I was born to love you. That I was enchanted to meet you. I did, exactly. I remember, not the exact day nor the date, but I can never forget your face as you listened to me. I can never forget the way your cheeks blossomed in the most beautiful shade of scarlet. I can never forget the way your eyelashes fluttered as you tried to look away from me.

“Stop it, Jaehyunnie,” you said, biting your lip, hiding your face behind your palms. “You’re so cheesy, ugh. So childish.”

And _childish_ \-  I’d hate it, usually, when those words are directed at me. I’d hate it, but this was you and I’d love, I’d be anything you wanted me to be, I have decided. I thought so, during the days when I was so enamored with you. Such thoughts didn’t last long, for I was young, stupid, and foolish, and my ego was as big as yours, and I could only take so much ‘childish’ being thrown my way. Even if it was you, even if it was you whose every word I cling to.

My thoughts stray further from our meeting; now I’m thinking about our fights. We fought a lot, and as much, we made up. And as much, we talked. We talked, because we didn’t understand each other. We still don’t; that’s why we talk. That’s how we came to accept one another. That’s how, I think, for so long we managed to stick together; because we always managed to find each other in the middle.

Whoever said that you can always understand the one you love even if they don’t say anything is stupid. I was stupid too, I still am, but that person was a lot more stupid. There’s no fucking way you can understand one another without words, without communication. That’s why whenever we fought, whenever our words that used to caress each other turned into blades so sharp to be weapons of murder, I was excited. I was thrilled. I was anticipating another chance to understand you, to discover you, to unravel yet another side of you that I never knew.

We fought each other even if we didn’t mean to. We set each other askew only to make up and shape ourselves anew, together. It’s an arousing journey with you;  no matter what ensued, I knew that we could always make it through. We always did, we always do, and with what we have right now, too, we just have to make it do.

I still remember our most recent fight - it was last year. I was too immature, too difficult and childish to admit my problem. You put up with me until that day when I was being unprofessional at work. March 14th, 2017, you threw it in my face: “You could have fucking smiled.”

I didn’t.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Jeong Jaehyun.”

“Fuck you.”

And I stormed out of the bathroom, leaving you alone. I didn’t slam the door even though I wanted to slam it so hard that it would rattle you right to your bones, so you could feel my pain, my agony. So you could feel my anger and understand that all I ever wanted was for you to, please, please save me from the monster of myself. I hate this, this temper of mine, this ego of mine. I hate this and I know you do too because yours is as bad as mine, worse even.

I knew you’d understand how much it’s killing me, and you did, because the next day you stopped fighting. You stopped talking to me altogether but you didn’t stop wearing that bracelet, the one you gave me for my birthday that I let you have it because you seemed to love it so much. You kept wearing it as if telling me that you believed in me, you kept wearing it as if telling me that you believed that this was another fight that I would emerge from as a victorious knight.

And I did, no more than two weeks later. You were still wearing that bracelet when we left for the airport but the afternoon before the concert, I came to your room, I told you, “I’m sorry,” and untied that bracelet from your wrist. I kissed them, “I’m sorry,” and you told me, “it’s okay,” and those words were the sword I brandished to thrust until my demon vanished.

I held you, precious you in my arms. So small. So fragile, and I feared that if I didn’t hold you close you’d disappear. But you told me, “I’m here,” but you told me, “welcome back.”

And I said, “I’m home,” and suddenly everything was alright. We found each other again right in the middle, as we always did, and we knew we would always do.

I held you too at the stage that night. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure. I was contemplating it a lot. Yet you, you looked so happy, so bright, and being blinded by you was my usual state of mind, so I turned unseeing, could see nothing but you. I didn’t see the risk. I didn’t see the warning. The only thing I did see was you, so I put my arms on you, around your shoulders, I pulled you a little closer until my chest was almost touching your back. I was smiling nervously, everyone around us was laughing, you were too, so I let you go and I laughed, too. I didn’t care what they were going to say, I didn’t care if they blamed me, censured me. Come what may, at the time, all that ran in my mind was how much I loved you, how much I treasured you, how grateful I am to have you, and I needed you to see. I needed you to feel. I needed the whole world too, so I held you.

Thinking of that fight put a smile on my face. My thoughts travel to what came after that, the many days we spent saddled together, smiling and giggling to each other when people weren’t looking. When they were looking. We were so shameless; you and I both. You practically groped my chest at an award show (it was _everywhere_ on the internet), I told you that you’re beautiful (also on the internet, albeit wasn’t everywhere). I described you as “love” on broadcast, and reasoned that there was no special reason needed to love someone.

To some extent, it’s true, for I cannot explain why and how I came to love you. If one were to ask, I’d say it’s because you enchanted me. To love you. To accept you. To understand you. And they asked me again, which they’d do because I really wasn’t explaining anything, I’d say it’s because you love me, you accept me, and you understand me. If they asked yet again _why,_ may you please explain to them why?

Why did you love me? Why did you accept me? Why did you understand me? Why did you come to me, closer than anything in the world? If I asked you now, if I asked you who’s sleeping peacefully in my arms right now, could you please tell me why?

You couldn’t, right now you’re asleep and tucked in my arms, you’re as beautiful as ever. Gold and silver. You’re what the stars would be when they died, not forgotten, but preserved, beautiful sparkling dust. Like gemstones. You shine, under the light, inside the dark. You always have and for years to come, you always will.

I stroke you, the beautiful you, cold in my arms. I stroke you and think how despite everything, you’re still the only thing in this world that can blind me completely. Even now, all I can see is you. Even more so now, for I’m looking for you, for I always have and always will. For I fear that if I lost sight of you, you would never return to my line of vision again.

In the dark, in the light, you’re the only thing I see. Since far back then when we were just kids, stumbling in the dark, struggling just to fight to not give up our light. Since then, you have become all I ever want. Even when they tried to reduce you into something nobody should want, I still did.

It happened about two years after I met you. December 2014. Or was it November? I should have remembered the details but I was too busy memorizing you, how beautiful you are even if your whole world was falling down over your feet.

The Class was dismissed later than usual and I texted you on my way to the SM building. _Hyung, I’m a little bit late. I’m sorry_ , and texted the instructor later.

I knew it was backward, but all I could think of was how antsy you’d be without me; I needed to reassure you, or that was just my ego thinking. Either way, I did, and I got an answer from neither. I was a little worried but brushed it off immediately, you must be practicing already, no time to check your phone. You’re always like that, that’s why I admire you, that’s why I adore you. That’s why I’m drawn to you, I want to be like you, and the only way to do so is by being closer to you. You’re not the easiest person to deal with but neither am I. We’re so alike in many aspects, and different in just as many. Any other person might stay away, but I’m the opposite; I’m drawn closer to you: you pulled me into you. Your magic. _Fuck gravity_. I’m orbiting around you, eager to learn every single thing about you. Every plain, every terrain. Every slope, every mountain.

That day I got to learn about your ocean, about your depths that nobody had ventured to.

When I entered the practice room, all eyes were on me. Blown. Wide. They looked at me like I was a ghost, and I looked at them like they were seeing a ghost; nervous, worried.

“What happened?” I asked after my “good evening.”

There was silence, then nobody looked at me anymore. Not even Mark who was usually so eager to welcome me.

“Where’s Taeyong-hyung?” I asked Yuta-hyung, the only one who was still looking at me.

“Jaehyunna,” then he said with his still accented Korean, “there’s something you need to know.”

He took a deep breath, such simple task a burdensome chore. I grew more curious, more worried, more scared. What happened? What could have happened and made everyone behave like this? What was it that I need to know that should serve as the answer to my simple, “where’s Taeyong-hyung?”

What I saw next, what Yuta-hyung showed me, it didn’t answer my question, just popped more, and made my stomach plummet. Nothing beautiful like a comet, just ugly like a tragic plane crash. But as I ran out of the room, as I felt the planes of my body coming apart, I thought of you, and how your entire world just collapsed within a matter of minutes.

I ran, and ran, and ran. I searched, I looked. Fuck practice, as long as I can keep myself on top of the game in the next evaluation, I will be alright. You will be too. We both will. I swore, to myself, to any God who bothered to listen, and later to you; that I’d find you first and I would hold your hand, always. I swore to myself that once I found you, I would tell you; _it is a tough time now, but we can make it through._

But when I eventually found you, I knew that not every oath was made to be fulfilled. How could I say anything to you, what should I even say when you’re crying like this, when you’re crying out alone? For your broken heart, for your broken past, for your broken now, and maybe even your broken future? What words would be enough to stop your heart from falling, like the fence link you pressed your back on, stopping your body from the fall?

The Rooftop has always been everyone’s favorite place to cry. To scream. To shout out loud. To ask the sky that wouldn’t answer but was always there to listen to our, “why me? why am I like this?”

Did you come here first today? Were you the first one? And was it your wail that drove everyone away? Or was it the tag they put on you that drove them?

I didn’t know what I should say; I could not say, “it’ll be alright, Hyung,” not because I wasn’t sure whether things could be alright or not, but because I knew you. We fought, we made up, we talked, and that’s not what you wanted to hear. That’s what I wanted to hear and now it’s not about me; it’s about you.

It’s about you, who I orbit around every day. Right then all you needed was silence as company. You needed to wait until the storm passed over. Any other noise will just turn it louder, and that’s not what you needed. This wasn’t the time when you needed other people to reassure you; this was the time when the thing that kept you unsure of yourself was that nobody should even be sure of you. I didn’t know how much of that article was true, but if the boy they talked about was you, then I, who had fought and made up and talked to you, knew as much that not blaming you wasn’t the right thing to do.

So I sat down beside you. I sat there and listened to you cry. I committed it to memory. It’s a song more beautiful than the song I overhead the kids practicing earlier. I could almost hum to it. Curiously familiar notes of misery. So painful. So raw. So free. So beautiful. Supposedly it should tear me apart, and it did. Supposedly, it should make me question myself, and it did. I did, maybe I’m a masochist, maybe I’m loose on my hinges, having nothing to latch my sanity to. Supposedly, I was; we were. Supposedly, we set each other askew and fixed ourselves anew. With you scrambling to find something to hang on to, how am I supposed to keep myself from falling through?

Supposedly, as I sat here listening to you cry, the cry that I still found to be beautiful because I’d love anything that came out of you; we’re not alright now, and I can say, with sureness, with conviction, that: it’s fine.

It’s fine, maybe it’s the time, for us not to be alright. For you. For me. This wasn’t the moment we’d never lived before, but a sorrow we never go through, and I couldn't keep my promise that everything’s gonna be alright, but I can keep the one where I hold your hand through it all.

I didn’t back then, not until you let me, and it came so much later after we talked, after you stopped crying, and asked me, “why are you here?”

“I was looking for you.”

“You should go away, or they’ll hate you too.”

“I don’t care.”

“About the article?”

“About them. About that.” I added, “I care about you, Hyung.”

I looked at you; you never looked back at me, still burying your face in your arms. My heart was in pieces, every piece of shrapnel swore for vengeance, against myself who was so weak and couldn't protect you. And every piece of shrapnel longed for you, sought for you. Like me.

_Wanted to see you_. If I said so, would you hear? Would you listen? Would you raise that face of yours and allow me the glory of seeing the silver tracks running down your face?

You didn’t, for I didn’t ask, for I remembered this wasn’t about me but about you. Then you asked me again, “does it bother you?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Liar,” you spat out, but the hate, the disgust, it was all at yourself. Not me. Only you. Even in your rage you never found it in yourself to hate me; I wish you knew that as much as it was like that for you, it was like that for me. I can only hate myself but never you.

“It only bothers me because it bothers you,” I elaborated a bit. You laughed. So hollow. So wretched. So beautiful.

“One day you will find it bothering you.”

Did anyone, had anyone said this to you? Was this something that someone had told you and you’re now reaping the worst of it? “You’ll never be a burden to me, Hyung.”

“Easy for you to say.”

_Just as easy as it is to love you_. Words I could never utter, at least not back then. “I will prove it to you.”

“There’s nothing to prove, Jaehyunnie.”

_There is. My love for you_. But it was too cheesy. Could those words, if I were to say them back then, make you laugh? Would you, had I say it back then, have laughed?

No. You wouldn’t. Laugh. You couldn’t take it. You would not. You could not. It was about you and not about me. It was about you and how your past came to haunt you, thirsty and vengeful. _One day, you will find it bothering you_.

“Is it true?” I asked instead because you looked like you could take that better than any words of love, than any words of affection, than any adoration. You’d rather take the blades, take the arrows. Take the pain and all the blame, because I fought you, I knew you. I crossed blades with you and you were wearing that look; the look that said _I deserve it_ as your skin broke apart and blood ran free.

“Is what true?”

“It.”

“What is it?”

I didn’t know how should I say it, didn’t know how to address it. Didn’t even know for sure that I could bear uttering it because saying things, although not automatic, could mean that you believed it. For that, I didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to believe it, and if I told you, would you say I’m a hypocrite?

You would. I knew you. I knew you like I knew my own body. Nothing. For I’m still growing and my body, this body of mine that you often praised and adored, will change. What I knew of my body now would be nothing more than memory as my body is shaped, molded into something else. As my bones grow stronger, as my flesh turned firmer, as my limbs stretched longer. There’s so much to learn, about my body, about you. And when I said what I said next was purely because I knew about you just that much; just enough but never enough.

“Even then, I trust you.”

We were shoulder to shoulder, and I felt you stiffen. I felt your breath stifle, felt you shudder before you asked me, “why?”

“Because it’s you.”

“I messed up,” you said, you admitted. And I love you, have loved you and have that conviction in myself that I always will.

So I said, “We all have. We all will again. We’re still kids, we didn’t know better-”

“I should have known better-”

“-and we grow up because we knew we should do better, so we can be even better.  So what happened to you, what you did, for me, it doesn’t matter.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“But like I said, clearly, for you it mattered, and, Hyung, this is about you,” I said, turning to look at you, you who hadn’t lifted your head.

You who are still grieving, still blaming yourself, still needing nobody to reassure you, and if what I was saying fell into the category of reassuring, then I wished you could forgive me, because as I said; I only knew you as much as I knew my young body. I didn’t know better just like you didn’t back then, and I wish you could understand. I knew you would understand.

“This is about you, so please tell me; tell me if it was true?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because unless I know, I don’t know what should I do with you. What should I say? I want to help you, Hyung, but if I don’t know where to look, if you don’t let me, how am I supposed to?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Taeyongie-hyung,” I sighed, frustrated. For a while I was silent, and so were you. It wouldn’t do to lose my temper. I had to be patient. I reminded myself this was about you, not me. It was about you and your scar, and you wound, and your sin, and every single thing that you did and was coming to you.

It was about you who didn’t know what to do with yourself before you came here. I’d say it’s too cruel for you to lose this place now after your long wandering, except that I didn’t know how grave your sin was to measure if this was this justice being done or the other way around.

“If you were really at fault, even if you were, I won’t say you deserve this,” I said testily.

“What is this?”

“Do you want to hear me say it that much?”

You were quiet. The ensuing silence wasn’t heavy, the ensuing silence was just right. Like comma in between long sentences, it’s just right. It fit. It was comfortable as it was bitter. It’s like the cold shoulder we gave to each other while we were fighting, before we made up and sorted things out between us. It was a silence so much needed, a silence we deserved. _You_ deserved, to make up your mind and for me to prepare my answer.

You spoke, eventually, and this time, you looked up, not at me, just stared right ahead. But I saw you, and relief flooded my lungs like I was born anew. This was no longer my old body, this one was not weary. This one was ready, this one was steady, to anchor you and take you whenever you needed me to.

“I feel like if you said it, it’s true. It’s real. This is really happening, and I... I just wanted to know if this was real.”

“Like how I want to know how much of it is true.”

“Like that,” you nodded. “Just say it, Jaehyunnie. Tell me, what is _it_?”

That’s what you asked me but all I could hear was you saying, _please set me free_.

And I would. I did. Whatever your lips uttered, whatever you asked for me, all I could do was to give, and I unclipped your wings, let them unfurl, hurt and broken. But you’re free. Free to go. Free to heal. Free, and I would take you, if you asked me. I would take you in my arms, like I’m holding you in mine right now, as long as you asked. This body of mine was new, was ready, was born to love you for I, I was enchanted to meet you.

“Is it true that you scammed people, Taeyongie-hyung? Is it?”

Your answer came faster than I expected, and it rang so true, so sure, “half of it.”

And there was nothing that could stop me from loving you. From throwing my arms around you, from accepting everything of you; your past, your present, your future, however it may be. And likewise, there was nothing to stop you from crying out your heart’s blues.

You cried again, this time in my arms, and I did too. You kept saying, “I’m sorry,” and I replied with, “forgive yourself, Hyung. Forgive him.”

But don’t forget. You wouldn’t, I knew you wouldn’t, that’s why I didn’t say it. Some things are meant to be forgiven but not forgotten, and this was one of it. Don’t forget, remember, but don’t let it crush you. Don’t let it deter you. You’re on a different path now and were you to atone for the wrong path you’ve chosen before, I will keep my promise, my promise of holding your hands. My promise of being there for you. My promise, for I have loved you, and I always will .

I don’t remember how long we stayed like that, curled around each other, crying our hearts out, but once we stopped, once we got our breathing back in order, once we were no longer battling our sobs to speak, it’s long beyond noon.

We ended up ditching practice that day and I’m glad we did, because if we didn’t, had I not suggested to you, maybe now we wouldn’t be on the same page. This page. If I didn’t look for you that day, maybe your story would have ended. The book went on but your chapter ended then while mine was still being written. I wouldn’t have that. I couldn’t have that. Had it happened, the me right now wouldn’t exist. I would be a different me, a _me_ that  I didn’t want to be for there was no way I would want to be _me_ without you.

It took time for you to recover and I can confidently say I was there, alongside you with every step. I wasn’t always holding your hand but I was there for you nonetheless, for you are so much stronger than anyone ever credited you for. Sometimes you wouldn’t even need me to be able to go on, sometimes you pushed through ahead alone. Your strength, your power, your mind, so beautiful. If I didn’t keep up, I’d be left behind, and I didn’t want that. I fought, too, with you, for you. I fought you, you fought me, but in the end, this is always where we ended up; together, in the middle, with each other.

Three years later and here I am, still very much in love with you, still very much giving my all to you. Still seeing nobody else but you. Whenever I see you, my thoughts run, and most of the time, it’s something like this, words so endless you can make a story of it.

Whenever I see you, it’s still the same. Lightning fast. Stolen moment. It’s just a split second but in my head, it’s a million years. Voyage of stars. In a speed of light, it’s prismatic catastrophe.

It’s multitudes of color. Lights refracted, burst into blue, red, teasing allure of violet, and yellow trickles in. Bright, lively green. Morning dew on new leaves. Vivacious orange, childish and zest. Cheerful leap of pink, pink, not like your lips. Your lips aren’t red either, when they are, they’re man-made, artificial.

Truthfully, I hate it. Truthfully, I resent it. Truthfully, I think you look like the dead sometimes when your lips are in their natural color; a pale shade of purple. I had said it in passing, once, twice, and you, you and your lovely bones. Lovely eyes. Lovely nose. Lovely smile and lovely death, smiled at me, “am I?”

I’d say, “you are,” or “put some lip balm on,” or, “let me put them on you,” but I was too distracted by your lips to say.

Your lips, dry and cracked. As meticulous as you are when it comes to cleaning, you never once pay attention to yourself. Not your hygiene, but this, something as basic as putting on any kind of moisture to make sure your lips are hydrated, so they won’t crack, so they won’t peel. And when they peel, only when they peel your lips become naturally red. Red with blood, peeking naughtily from between those gaps.

Truthfully, I’d love to kiss them. Truthfully, I’d love to lick them. Truthfully, I’d like to lap your blood. Truthfully, I’d love to drink your blood. You. And any other fluid that runs through those lovely rivers in your body.

I’ve read somewhere that drinking people’s blood, scientifically, doesn’t make you immortal. The human body cannot easily excrete excess iron; drinking too much blood, rich in iron and oxygen they might be, can lead to various diseases. Liver damage, The buildup of fluid in your lungs, or the funniest one for me; low blood pressure. But I think, whenever I admire the sapphire river that runs under your palm, I wouldn’t have any problem dying from your blood. Truthfully, I love it. Maybe. I do. If that means that I’d die with you imbued deeply in me, my system, in my body.

Wouldn't it be lovely, to die with the blood of your loved one inside of you? Take my blood, take it, and I shall take yours. Replace my blood, replace it, and shall I proclaim myself as you, were your blood were to run in my river of ruby instead of yours?

Truthfully, I would love it. To die with you in me. To die for you, and in me, is the sanguine stream that has been keeping you alive, that’s been running in you. You and your imperfect body. You and the prismatic cut of your body. You. You can cut me, with every slant and angle. Cut me, make me bleed, and I will lie in the pool of my own blood, thinking how you will always be death for me. Thinking, that truthfully, I’d love it. Truthfully, I will always be happy to die for you. From you. Because of you. In you.

So soak me in your blood. Press your lovely bones on me, dig your blade through my skin, tear my flesh, and pierce my sinew. Break me. I’d break for you. I’d die for you. Truthfully, I would love it. Anything that begins with you. Anything that ends with you. For you. From you. Because of you. Truthfully, I would love it. All of it.

You’re like the dead. You’re the death to me. And you had asked me, “Am I?” and I’m supposed to say, “you are,” but would you ever know all this perverse desire in me, coiling in my guts, spreading through my sinful body? Would you ever know how those thoughts lead me to, “you’re like the death”? Would you know the implication, and if you did, would you understand? Or if I said, “yes, you are,” would you just take it as my twisted way of saying, “Hyung, your lips are so pale and so dry, and, please take care of yourself?”

Your body. For me. No. For you. Take care of it. Treasure it. For you’re the death to me, and if I were to die, and I could choose the measure how, I’d take it as beautiful as I could. And you, my death, shall be as beautiful as your vicious body could.

Oh, vicious. You. Your body. You. You are a vile, ugly creature. You tricked me, you besotted me. I was born out of my mother’s virtue, sired by my father’s wisdom, and hailed, upon my first cry in this pathetic, desolate world, to be freed from any unholy desire.

But you, you are a creature of my dream, and you can be anything. A fairy. A pixie. A savior. A monster. A behemoth. A hunter. You are. With vengeance. With your bow and arrows, and your arrows, each tip is coated thickly in a poison called lust. You seek for me, on those long, beautiful legs that are breakable as bird wings. On those long, beautiful legs that strangle me in my dreams. You come, and in your eyes, you promise me a disaster, but the sinuous curve of your hips promises me the answer to my desire. How funny it is, for your hips are more a line than a curve, but even the slightest dip is the perfect place for my fingers to rest on.

Father, I have sinned. For I have let this demon in. But Mother, have I sinned? For he’s the hunter and this bewitchment was from his arrow that penetrated through my skin?

If I could, I would bequeath this desire. Vanquish and eliminate it with fire. But then you’d come, on your head the most beautiful crown of briar. And I would say, as I let you cut through my barbed wire; truthfully, I’m just in denial.

Truthfully, I’d love you, and have you in any possible way. Truthfully, I’d love you, and have you lead me astray. With the fragrance of your blood. The coarseness of your skin. Sand on my fingers. Let it sink in, as I trap you beneath me, you and your vile flesh of a body. You, your skeleton is the citadel of my sin, and among the many I have and yet to commit, is the most gargantuan of all.

You, your body. Truthfully, I’d love to die in it. With it. For it. Me, in you. You, in me. And we shall be one as you shall be my only. Take me, take my body, for I have loved you, for I have departed from my mother’s celestial body, in a quest to conquer. But then you came to me, with vengeance, with your spell, and your arrows they pierced through my wings. Then I fell, far before I could even see the coast of the holy land. To you. On you. You welcomed me, your wicked smile, your wicked hands, you embraced me and you snapped my wings.

“Don’t go anywhere,” you said. “Stay with me,” you plead.

I am lost, but in this body I’ve found a new home. Lovely body. I have met you, perhaps even before then, you have seen me. Found me, and what could have run in that impious head of yours when you saw me? What were you thinking, when you landed your tempestuous eyes on me?

Did you hate me? Did you resent me? Did I perhaps unknowingly cast a spell on you that was in any way similar to the one you cast on me? Was it my fault, then? Was it my sin, to depart and fly on your sky in this body of mine?

This body of mine, this body of mine that you love so much. You have worshipped my body with your fingers, with your eyes, with your lips. Have you fantasized about my body, with that wondrous head of yours? How far have you gone? How far have I in your head gone? Did I do more? Did I do less? Have I, in your head, learned about you more intimately than me in my corporeal body has ever done? Have you ever loved me in your head more? Have you ever wished I was the I in your head more than the I who wasn’t in your head? Have you?

If you have, please, don’t be scared, don’t be ashamed. I have been drenched to in you to have any shame at all. Touch me, tell me, enunciate to me all your intimate desires, as dirty as they are. For I have been dirtied, sullied, humbled, that very first time your eyes imparted on me, mine, my body. I have loved you, and cast away all the blessing of my parents, just so I can have you, just so I can take you.

And, please, as you please; have me, take me. Quench your thirst with my body. This body of mine that has bewitched you, and then you besotted me with yours. Was this why you came to me with vengeance? Dear you, my hunter in revenge. Have you hated me, resented me, as much that you’d take me down? As much that you have me beguiled, that I’d beseech my body to die if you were to request that of me?

And I would. Die for you. In you. From you. With you. Let this carcass called my body rot unsightly, let the birds, the insects, the grass, the butterflies take me home until I’m nothing but ashes and bones. This house of them, would they ever know what once resided there? Human. Desire. Pure as it is rotten. Me. You. Would you, if I were to die before you, and have perished to dust while your cartilage is as strong as ever, come to visit me, then? This humble abode of my vice?

If you would, then I want you to pray on your bended knee. Do not scatter your flowers, I just need your words on me. Say it, say you love me, say that you’re sorry that you killed me. Say that you need me and this life without me is a heaven in which you don’t want to live. Say you can’t live without me. Say it. Or I will have the birds, the insects, the grass, the butterflies, make you say it. Say it, and don’t ask why there’s no flower in this humble garden of mine. You’d know. You have always known, there’s only one flower in my life and it has bloomed under your eyes for eternity. As long as you live. As long as before your body perishes.

I, even if have been reduced to dust and bones, would still love you. Would still want you. Would still need you. With your hands, break me. With your hands, take me. With your hands, throw me. And even then I know; I would still love you. I would, for when your arrow first pierced through me, my body, I have been imprisoned. Unbeknownst to space. Unbeknownst to time.

This was the curse you put on me, and I’d beg no father nor mother forgiveness. I have tasted you, and once I did, I have loved you. And you snapped me, broke my wings, but the sky was no bluer than your sadness at the thought of losing me, and so I fell out of love with it, once I learned about the shade of your blue.

Even if I cannot go far, further than this abyss of yours, truthfully, I would not regret. For I have come this far, from a simple “It’s just a split second but it’s a prismatic catastrophe”.

I’ve wandered, far and beyond, through many things, and that’s how you made me feel. That’s how you make me think. One thing, one thing as simple as staring at you could lead me to this. You refract them, one thing, to millions. To billions. And I would think of many, truthfully, I would do so many, if you let me. If you lead me. If you love me, would you me do the many?

“Do you love me, Hyung?” I asked. One day. One night. One February 14th when you kissed me on the cheek and I still tasted you, you from one December 3rd morning, on my lips.

It was nearing 3 in the morning, and we were the only ones left awake. We were talking on the balcony, about things, about us, our skin caressed by the wind, about everything, and I asked you,

“Do you love me?”

Because I do and you know it’s true. I do and have told you, that one December morning when you let me claim your body, when you let me have a taste of you and you of me. When I learned about you, as intimate as I imagined it to be and much more intimate maybe, I have told you. That I love you.  That I have, and always will.

You did not reply, and I was okay with that. You never treated me any differently, never pushed or pulled me away, it’s the same distance as always, I’m still the closest to you, more than anything in the world.

So I never asked, but tonight I asked because you kissed me. Because you threw a surprise party for me. Because I still have the taste of you on my lips, on my cheek, on my body, and humans, they have their limit.

Maybe, for me this was it. It was my limit.

“Does it bother you?”

“It does.” I said, a vague sense of nostalgia. Or maybe just a deja vu. I always feel like I’ve known you forever.

“Why? It’s just a birthday kiss?”

“You know for me it’s not just a birthday kiss. You know exactly why it bothers me.”

I wasn’t angry, I thought. I believed. But you knew me better than I knew myself sometimes, and you looked at me like I’m angry but you wouldn't try to fight me.

So, I was angry. I admitted, but for that, I wasn’t ashamed. My anger, it was justified. “Why can’t you just tell me, Hyung, if you don’t.”

“I never said I don’t.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re saying you do either.”

“You know me.”

“I do,” I said. The stars up there glimmered as if to support me, as if to convince you, you who could be an astral being yourself with how beautiful and blinding you are.

“Then you should know the answer already, Jaehyunnie.”

“I need to hear it.”

“Why?”

“Why can’t you say it?” Why can’t you, when I was ready to shout my love out, on top of my lungs, out to the pitch dark night that was watching us? Out and above to those stars up there. Out and higher above to where the moon was hanging, solemn silver and serene. Why can’t you?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” was your answer. I wasn’t surprised. I knew you, I always knew this was why you never dared saying it out loud. Your affection. Your true feelings. You will let yourself go but never this one. Save for this one, and I’d say it, I’d tell you again and again,

_You will never hurt me_ ,

But this, this was the only way you could hurt me.

Don’t stop yourself from loving me just like I can never stop loving you. Don’t stop yourself from having me when I can never stop wanting to have you. Don’t stop. Give us a chance. Give me a chance. Give yourself. _Forgive yourself_ , I said that night. And could it be, four years later, you still haven’t forgiven yourself?

_One day you will find it bothering you_. But that was you. That wasn’t me. I was never bothered by whatever cruel thing it was that you had done. It only bothered me because it bothered you. Then, did it mean it’s bothering me by proxy? Were you trying to prove what you told me four years ago, proving to me, who had sworn to prove otherwise?

But I wasn’t going to have any of it. I was having none of it. Nothing. I have loved you, and swore on my unholy body of desire that I’d love you, through and through. I’m going to prove it, to you, to the whole world, to the macabre of your past, that it wasn’t going to bother me.

So I stepped closer to you, I longed for you, and my breath was caught when our shoulders met. You turned slightly to look at me, your eyes, summer sky in the height of winter. Our breath came out puffing clouds of white. White, like the color your skin had turned from the cold weather. White. Your knuckles. I took them, I pressed a kiss on them, I imagined the red of my lips bleeding all over your skin until your hand turned red, like blood, like heart, like the artificial color of your lips. The color wouldn’t stop there, it’d spread all over you, your seductive body, and that shall be my incantation of love.

“You can never hurt me, Lee Taeyong,” I said, my lips are brush enduring, stroke red, more red, scarlet like blood on your pasty skin. Scarlet like blood on the tip of a blade rusting so thin.

You regarded me with your silence, your astral silence. Your eyes elliptical galaxy. I was alone, a lost voyager, roaming in far-off space just for a sight of you. Just to know you. Just to learn about the stellar cluster that spun together into you. You, who had kissed me today, who had surprised me, who had set my courage sail, but was not ready to be my shore.

You, who had bewitched me, had plucked me from my sky, had enchanted me, had loved me, and taken me, and you, “you can never hurt me.”

“Can you prove it to me?” You asked, staring into my eyes, my eyes that were blind for anything but you. My wretched, unseeing eyes, that with which I had worshipped you.

“I will. I will prove to you that you can never hurt me, I will make you believe it.”

“And I will.”

You fully turned until you were facing me and I was facing you, our hands between us, my lips still on your skin and you’re flushed, from my love, from yours, from ours. I kissed your hand again, and you surged forward, like waves clapping back to the shore, and as you be my shore, you became mine. I take you in my arms, I held you, I pressed another kiss. On you. Your knuckle. Your skin. On your heart, that lies deep beneath the layers of your flesh and bones.

“I will prove it to you that I cannot hurt you, you cannot hurt me.”

_You cannot hurt me_. I’d said it already; we were so alike and just as much, we were different. Perhaps without me realizing, or I was merely refusing to admit it, I, just like you, was worried that one day I’d hurt you. I was just pretending that I was never that unsure of myself, for I hate the thought of losing as much as you did. But when it came to this, you were always the more honest one and I, I was the childish, immature one. The one who couldn’t easily accept my deficits and would polish it until nobody could see it.

But of course you saw through me, like I could you. You told me of my fear that I was too ashamed to admit, you accepted me and that fickle fear of mine. Did you know how much it saved me? How much it healed me? How much it fortified me? Then in my arms, as you held me back, as you let me kiss you, let me love you, you told me, “I love you, Jeong Jaehyun, I love you.”

Did you know how you had killed me? The old me, Jeong Jaehyun, before February 14th, 2018, until what left of me was nothing but that part of me that lived and was born for you, which pretty much meant all of me?

Did you know how it felt to die once but then come back alive once again, in the same body yet one so different? I couldn’t even describe it, all I knew was that I was someone new. I am someone new. Stronger than before, bigger, happier. I could move a mountain. Dry the ocean if I wanted to.

I cannot describe it, even now as I hold you, cold and beautiful stardust in my arms. I couldn’t describe it to you back then, didn’t think you could even understand, so I just told you, “We can never hurt each other, Hyung.” Convicted. Resolved. We’re a puzzle finished, then we moved onto another because we don’t want us to be over just yet. It’s another chapter ended, time for another page, another story. A different one but I hope, I dearly, and sincerely hope, with this beguiled body of mine, that whatever end might find us, none of it will see us apart.

Now, 136 days later, I’m not sure in which category our ending will fall, or if this was even our ending at all. Every time I wake up, it feels like I’m still dreaming. I still have you, right here in my arms, I’m holding you as close as ever, we’re not even apart. This couldn’t be an ending, and if it is, then it’s of yet another chapter and tomorrow, July first, it’s the start of the new one.

Tomorrow, July first. It’s your birthday. I can’t wait. I have put the most beautiful flower crown on you, I couldn’t find a veil, please forgive me, even if you told me that you’d love to have us wear veilS in our wedding day, I just couldn’t find the size that’s right.

Ah, veil. Wedding day. That’s right, let’s think about our wedding day, about wedding plans. It’s yet to happen of course because you’re still here sleeping soundly in my arms, but we’ve talked about it. It wasn’t even that long ago when you came to me in the middle of the night. Another night too exciting with you to sleep, another night when all my thoughts surrender themselves to you. To think about you. For you.

It was before we left for Japan to debut. Just two weeks before a hole opened up on the sky. We were practicing until late because it’s us, because we’re always the last ones in the practice room, and you had the key, entrusted to you by the manager. I didn’t know if there was anybody else left in the building, the thought of how late time was flew right out of my head. I just knew in this room there was only me and you. Sweat soaked. Worn to the bones.

You sat beside me, panting, our knees touching, and I rested my palm on your thigh, smiling. With my eyes closed, I can see you smiling back.

“You know about June bride?” You asked, sounding both exhausted and enthusiastic.

I said, “yes,” because I lived in America for four years, but that’s not why I’m here; I’m here for you, because of you. For I was enchanted to meet you and because my body had found a home in yours, in you.

My knowledge of June brides probably exceeded what you possessed, but that didn’t stop you from explaining it to me. I listened, I love hearing your voice, I love hearing you talk, hearing you speak, hearing those letters uttered out from your lips, hearing them weave themselves around each other. Notes meet, on the right key, there was happiness in your voice, hope, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

I opened my eyes, looked at you who was in the middle of explaining about Jupiter, the goddess of marriage and childbirth. You were looking at me, speaking animatedly, our knees still bumping each other’s, and you talked, talked, and talked. And I, I longed to commit everything, not only into my memories but if possible, on my body. On my skin. Every single word that has left your mouth, your mouth that had sworn your love to me. I’d tattoo them onto my skin, the words of nearly six years. I’m sure my skin wouldn’t be enough, it wouldn’t be long until my skin was pitch black from the lettering of your inks. Can I, then tattoo them to my bones, to my flesh, on my organs? Should I twist and bend my limbs until my bones cracked out from my skin, so you can put them on, every word of every tale you want to spin?

“So, I was thinking, maybe we should get married in June!” You finished, concluded. Stopped. Whatever, you were smiling, and you from February 14th, 2018 was far away. You from another chapter, you who weren’t so sure yet you whom I loved nonetheless.

“You’d be my June groom.”

“And you’d be mine,” you nodded. You from February 14th, 2018 was the one who killed me and maybe me from February 14th 2018 had killed you too. Maybe we both died that day and us today, here, in this practice room, soaked to the bones with exhaustion and affection and imagination of love, of a wedding, of being groom and groom, were two people old yet anew.

“We will wear suits.”

“That’s too stuffy,” you refused. “I want to wear something white, something billowy...”

“But tradition,” I protested.

“We will keep the dress pants,” you negotiated.

“And the pantofel.”

“Can we just keep the dress pants?”

I frowned, “what, you don’t want to keep the pantofel, Hyung?”

“I was thinking something like sneakers.”

“Sneakers,” I looked upward, my habit when I was thinking.

I imagined you, and me, we’re in dress pants, dark navy because black was too classic and tradition might be romantic, but I needed some kick. You’ll be wearing white, shirt, billowy. Maybe untucked, uncuffed. I’ll keep three of your buttons open, and you’ll button mine up to the neck. Then sneakers, not pantofel. You’re walking slowly behind me, we’re hand in hand, we’ll have a slow walk drenched by warm, the sixth month’s sun. In sneakers.

“Not bad, I guess,” I admitted, then you climbed on me. On my laps, your hands weren’t on my shoulders but resting on my chest, and I kept mine immediately steadfast on your hips.

“Right! Then we will both wear veils!” You suggested again.

I chuckled, “Veils?”

“You’ll look beautiful with it, Jaehyunnie,” you said, brushing my hair off my face. You called me beautiful, and if it wasn’t you, I’d not appreciate it as much. But this was you, and I’d love, I’d be whatever me that came out of your mouth. This was you and if you wanted me to be beautiful with a flower crown sitting on top of my head, then a beautiful flower groom I would be.

“What about you?” I asked, my thumb slipped under your shirt, caressing your salty skin.

“I will wear mine, too. You’d pick it for me.”

“And you picked for me?”

“I will pick it for you,” you nodded, your thumb resting on my brow. Your other hand a comforting weight on my chest, feeling my heart beat against the bones concrete as you smiled down on me, all sugar and sweets. “We will wear veils, too.”

“Veils?”

“Veils. Flower crown, veil. Isn’t it romantic?”

“With dress pants and sneakers?”

“With dress pants and sneakers. Who said veils are only good for dresses?”

“Nobody,” I said, “We’re not wearing dresses?”

“Dresses are for June brides,” you said, “we’re June Grooms.”

June groom. It doesn’t have a nice ring to it, maybe because we’re not used to it, but whatever came out of your mouth, they all carry the right heat. So, I repeated, “June groom.”

“June groom,” you repeated back, leaning in until we’re touching nose and nose. “My June groom, Jeong Jaehyun.”

And my June groom, Lee Taeyong, I love you so much. If I marry you, if I wed you, then I’d be able to gaze at you forever. I don’t have to think about what other people think when they look at me looking at you. I don’t have to care if they capture it; my imprisonment, your captivation, my devotion. I can only care about what you think when you look at me looking at you. I can only care about your smile, your eyes, lovely shade of black. Black means death, for you are death to me. Look at me then, remind me that if I were to die someday, it’d be from you or no death at all.

If I marry you, this would be my wedding vow, I’d recite this, to you, to anyone who bothered to listen, to any sun and sky that will be our witness. That when it comes to you, I’m always lost. Of cause. Of reason. Of myself and the many things that came with me. When it comes to you, I would think of many things, of anything, yet in the end, they’d all come back to you. None of my ideas will go further than the thought of you. I begin with you, my life began when you crippled me, ripped me down from the sky. Then, I shall end with you. I shall die with you. In me. With your blood in my body. I’d die for you. I have said this, and will say this again; you are death to me. And truthfully, I’d love to, for I have loved you and you have loved me. So please, please, then give me your hand to marry and I will marry you. I do. In June. Because in June they celebrated Juno and Jupiter. Because after June comes July, and the first moon of July celebrates your birth. Your coming into this world, there couldn’t be any better month.

“Where’s the lucky place?” I asked, kissing you. Soft. You kissed me, just as soft, on my lips. You’re smiling, and I smile back. The lucky place, the lucky place that will witness the union of you and me. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. Until you set us apart.

“I was thinking about New York.”

“New York?”

“New York, they have pride march around 24th or 25th. Anyway, June is pride month.”

“That’s perfect,” I said.

“Place and month,” you agreed.

“So what, we will get married in the march?”

“No. That’d be awesome to have people celebrate for us, don’t get me wrong, but I want this to be just you and me. I want you of that day only for me.”

I agreed, it’d be amazing to have people who threw fanfare for us, but marriage is sacred, the marriage that I imagined has always been private. It made sense to keep it between only the two of us. So I said, “yes, okay. No march. But if you want to, we can, but nobody needs to know we’re married.”

“If we have rings they’d know.”

“No ring?”

“We can just rent a place where we can see the march, a rooftop, maybe. I know people rent out their rooftop in New York, or any place, really, where we can watch the march.”

“With wine?”

“Wine, soft drink, whatever you want. And we will be wearing our veils, our flower crowns. We will be in our sneakers, and dress pants.”

“And white shirt.”

“And white shirt,” you kissed me again. “We will watch the march, we will watch people celebrating love that knows no boundary. Rejoice in love as we rejoice in matrimony.”

“Are you rhyming?” I teased.

You giggled, “I’m a rapper,” then I kissed you. “And soon to be wed.”

“With?”

“You?”

“In June.”

“In New York.”

“This year?”

“Any year you want it to be, Jeong Jaehyun.”

Any year I want it to be. If I said I want to hold it every year, how would you react, I wonder. Of course I didn’t say that, of course I said, pretending to be sensible, “Maybe after military service, once our career is already stable, and hopefully we’re at a better place than now.”

_Better place_ as in the better environment, better kind of people, people who weren’t so judgemental, people who weren’t trying to bring us down. Hopefully, in ten years to come, we no longer had people breathing down our neck, eyes on eyes to nitpick each and every single one of our actions, reading too much into our words. Hopefully, by the time we got married, our parents can understand, our family. But I’m sure, I have conviction, that even if they did, against me, against my love to you, against my decision, against me and you, I’ll always choose you. For I began with you and I shall end with you. And my mother’s virtuous womb was where I came from but in your body was where I felt I truly belong.

We continued talking about our marriage, the details. We even made a list on your phone. The clothes. The place. The food, even. Do we need a wedding cake or just a simple brunch and dinner? If we’re going to rent a rooftop, should we hold a candlelit dinner? Or should that be my surprise to you before I take you to bed and make love to you through the night?

Or should we just grab something from a food truck, cheese and grease, and if it had any sauce, the sauce would fall to your shirt, staining the white red. You’d be upset, and I’d pull all my cards from goofy faces to sappy words, and then you’d smile, you’d sputter into a giggle before bursting out into full-blown laugh. You might smear your sauce-stained fingers on mine. We will both have red, wet patches on our white shirts, we will have our veils, our flower crowns. We will probably look silly, but we’re happy, and it’ll be pride month in June! Maybe people will see us, will find out about us, and say, “happy marriage!” and we will toss them our most brilliant smiles, sauced fingers, in so much need of laundry, “happy pride month!” Isn’t it so lovely?

We can also grab whatever, or make a lunch basket, then have a picnic at Central Park. We’ll have cake, we’ll celebrate. We will sit in the grass, you’ll putter about the dirt for a while then I’d kiss you, then I’ll feed the cake to you, then you’d smile, forgetting about the grass and the dirt and the bugs and the bees, then you kissed me back.

“Do we need a camera?”

I said, “no,” because I want to see you, I don’t want it to be the camera that you’re looking into even if it was me standing behind the lens. I want it to be just me when the time comes. Me and just me, like for me there’s nobody else but you.

So we ditched the camera, deleted it from the list. You typed, _eyes_ , then I kissed you, the corner of your eye, right on your scar. You giggled, you said, “it’d be a happy wedding.”

I said, “it’s wonderful wedding as long as it’s with you.”

You followed with, “I love you so much, you know that?”

Which I replied with, “I know,” and kissed you again and there’s a flame in the pit of my stomach, licking me everywhere under my skin, throughout my body, and that was my lust, and my love, dancing. “I love you too, Lee Taeyong. I do.”

“Are we exchanging our vows earlier?”

“We can be engaged now.”

“Mm hmm, where’s the ring, we need the ring.”

“We haven’t even talked about the ring,” I pointed out. You looked on our list and laughed, tossing your head back. I wanted to kiss your exposed neck, that long column to the heaven of your mouth.

“Right, the ring, we haven’t even talked about the ring.”

“Do we need the ring?”

“We haven’t talked about the bouquet as well.”

“Do we need the bouquet?”

“Well, we already have flower crown.”

“Do we even need all that for marriage?”

“You’re the one stressing about pantofel, Jeong Jaehyun.”

“You got me there, Lee Taeyong.”

“I got you,” you said.

“I got you,” I echoed back. You smiled at me, the kind of smile that always stopped me dead in my tracks.

I kissed you, you kissed me, and I felt you just like you felt me, and for a while, the talk about marriage was shoved to the back of our mind as our bodies, our lips, our hearts, and limbs joined in the most beautiful harmony.

I never forgot about it, our wedding plans, and neither did you. It’s been almost two months since then, we still talk about it sometimes when we had free time. We talked about the bouquet again, about whether we should tell anyone or just jump on the plane, suits all packed in. Call it an elopement. As for the ring, we’ll buy the ring there. Enter the first store that we find or anything that caught your fancy. It can even be toy ring or the cheap silver ones some artisan sold at the park.

I thought about our wedding vows too, or anything you’d call the words that I’d speak to you. I think about how I will tell you everything that I had thought. About you and your body. About how I was enchanted to meet you. About how you’re the death to me. About how you had caught me in your gravity. About how my eyes, my eyes could see nothing but you and I will fight you if you wanted me to because we set each other askew as our only means to come out true.

And I will tell you, because you told this to me that night when we first talked about our wedding, and I will borrow the words from the song I had come to love even if it was not our song to begin with; that I got you, and you got me, and I will love you, love you til kingdom come. Even if we are nothing but ashes and bones. Even if we’re just souls and names carved on the stone.

I have loved you, and I will love you, even if now you’re nothing but ashes, stardust in the bottle, sleeping in my arms. I hold you close, I’m still holding you close. Tonight. June 30th. It’s barely 5 minutes to July 1st. Outside, the moon waxes. Inside, my heart’s chopped into pieces by time’s axis. It’s been 66 days since _the snap_ happened. Since the hole was opened up in the sky of New York. New York. And we were talking about how we’d get married in New York.

Right after the news announced the hole in New York, all activities were put into halt. Seoul had suffered the burn of Avengers and superhuman’s activities twice; three years ago and last February, around my birthday. The government had employed an emergency protocol, one of them involved canceling every activity under official notice from the Avengers themselves, of the government has ruled South Korea out from the potential area of conflict.

This time, it’s different, it’s on a bigger scale. Everyone could tell the moment Tony Stark, the Iron Man, was declared missing. Stark Industry was in chaos, so were the Avengers, who, with Tony Stark and Ultron’s disappearance, were left with nothing but the War Machine. Captain America, Falcon, and Black Widow had been off the radar for two years. Earth was left defenseless, the earth was left, hopeless.

We were huddled together, all eighteen of us, in a practice room when it happened. We’ve been ushered here by our managers. We had each other by the arms, watching the news, scared, apprehensive, and nobody said a word. We just clung to each other, and you were in my arms. I held you, shamelessly, selfishly. You ’d wanted to hug the smaller ones like Jisung and Chenle who had been crying since they announced Iron Man was missing, but I didn’t let you. I clung to you. I trapped you in my arms. I chanted in my head that _I got you, you got me_ , and you didn’t hear it but you saw it; my fear, my worry, I couldn’t bear losing you just like you couldn’t bear losing me.

You understood, you kissed me on the cheek, said, “just, let me get them?”

I kissed you back, I didn’t care if they saw it. I just wanted to kiss you, make sure you’re real, still here with me. Let them see. Let them watch. Let them talk but I doubt anybody would for whatever we had between us was surely the last thing in their heads. Their eyes were mostly glued to the screen, watching the news. I said, “okay.”

Then you called them, “Jisung, Chenle, come here.”

The two boys scuffled to you, you whom I held in my arms. You wrapped one arm around Jisung, kissed the top of his head. Chenle hugged Jisung, too, and Jisung wrapped one arm around the Chinese boy’s shoulder, the other grasping your shirt. I held you, held the three of you in my arms, you leaned back on me, breathing calmly. Were you hoping that it could somehow abate the stress? It did mine, I let you know, I kissed you again, I told you that, “I love you.”

You whispered back to me, “I know. I do too.”

That was the last thing I heard before you suddenly disintegrated, before you suddenly crumbled. Into ashes and no bones. Just sparkling dust, the remnant of stars.

Chenle screamed as Jisung followed you, and I heard another scream, I heard another name. I felt sick. My stomach flipped. On the ground was dust, silver and blue. On the ground was what remained of you. On the ground was supposed to be me for I always imagined myself to go before you, but it was you, and for a moment I thought that this was how I had to lose you, at least I have not only a name but also ashes to mourn.

My thought wasn’t in order as the world was thrown into disorder. I pawed on your dust, watching them slipped, fell off my hand. Fear seized me then that I could lose you if I didn’t gather you, if I didn’t collect you. I needed something to contain you, to keep you one and a whole. I ran for my bag, ran over my fallen friends, my fallen comrades. They were crying in grief, in anguish. I wasn’t crying, all I could think about was how I couldn’t lose you. Dust and grime you might be, but you are still you.

I had sworn, hasn’t I? That I have loved you and I still will, no matter what you are, no matter what you do. I took out my water bottle, it’s still half-full, I emptied it by pouring the content over my head. The water fell, sloshing wet all over my head. It dribbled to my skin, it set my head clear, and I realized this was real.

You‘re gone. You’re nothing but grey, shimmering sand.

Your sand, your ashes, your remain, I had to collect them. I walked back to where I was, to the small mound of your soot. Chenle was crying his heart out, calling for Jisung’s name. Everyone else was crying, I heard Mark shouting for Donghyuck’s name, for Doyoung, for Lucas. Johnny was crying for Ten, and Yuta could only manage a garbled sound of letters that sounded like Sicheng.

I scooped you, ignoring the cry twinging on my chest. I didn’t cry, too afraid if my tears were to fall on you, I’d hurt you. My eyes were dry as I gently, slowly, put you in my bottle. I screwed it close, tight, after making sure that I didn’t leave any of you out. The small mound that Chenle was crying over was not you, there was no more dust of silver around me. There were only people, crying, mourning, grieving, around me.

And I, I didn’t cry. I never cried, not even once, not even today.

It’s been around 66 days since then. Since Captain America returned with the rest of the Avengers, since they explained to us about Thanos and the snap, and whatever. The world, the entire universe even, has been cut into half of its population. We have more resources, fewer mouths to feed. We shall rejoice in our new candor and yet, all we’ve been doing is mourning. We moaned, we wept, we suffered as our hearts stayed broken for the ones we had lost.

What remained of earth’s mightiest heroes promised us that they will bring the lost ones back, I believed them. Not because I truly believe them but because I couldn’t believe you’re actually gone. I can’t. I can’t bear it. There’s no way I can bear living in the world without you. There’s no way I can bear living knowing that I can no longer see you. How am I supposed to when all of me, my heart, my soul, my body, all was brought into existence solely for you?

There are still so many things that I wanted to say, wanted to speak. Wanted to sing, and wanted you to hear. People who gave up told us to move on, but how could I when I know there’s no way I could find somebody like you? How could I when all I want was nobody but you?

I can never accept this, this kind of reality, this doesn’t even feel real. Even today, even now I still feel like I’m dreaming. It’s like I had fallen into a coma, April 25th, 2018, and I will never wake up until you come back to me; skin and blood, flesh and bones. I can never accept this kind of ending, I refuse to acknowledge this is the ending. This might be, of another chapter, and now I’m living in the different page, different chapter, the one when I had to lose you and I believe, I stubbornly believe, that in the next chapter I will find you again.

So I trust them, I trust they will bring back the lost ones to us. You to me. And me, with the bottle containing you in my arms, had to push our friends forward. I supposed none of them was as mad as me, I’m sure I wasn’t sane back then, even now. You weren’t there to keep me sane and supposedly, I was unhinged. I didn’t cry. From me there were no tears shed. From them, there was nothing but them to spill.

So be it. I got to pull them back to their feet. It wasn’t easy, none of it was easy, but I did. I did because this would be what you wanted from me. You always asked me, my help, to keep them in line. There were eighteen of us and respected you they might, yet listen to you they may not. Your limbs and eyes were only enough to keep the half of us, and you entrusted the other half of me. Wasn’t it perfect then, now that there are only half of us. I had to take care of them while you take care of the rest, wherever you and the rest are.

It’s been 60 days and more, we’re all on our feet, our unreliable feet that could crumble anytime. Everyone’s still grieving. All of us are the same, we have died a little bit inside. We lie in tears in bed all night. I do. Like now, I lie alone in my bed, with your bottle in my arms. You’re asleep, peaceful fragments of silver. Even reduced into grime and dust, you’re still beautiful.

You, the child of July. It’d be more fitting if you were red, red like crushed ruby, but even glistening cinders of pearl like this, you’re beautiful still, so I couldn’t complain. On the cap of your bottle, I have put a small flower crown. I hesitated a bit before, but I thought; _why not_? It’s June. You’re going to be my June groom in ten years anyway, what’s wrong if I want to keep a tradition of always putting a flower crown on you every June until then? Think of it as an engagement ceremony, only instead of a ring, I gave you a crown.

I can wait, Hyung, Taeyongie-hyung. I can wait until you return to me. I can wait, and until then, I shall be here, steadfast as mercury, proving to you; that even like this, even if you’re gone and leaving me alone, you can never hurt me. Like this, I can keep my promise to you; that I will always stay with you, that I will always have you, that I’ve always got you like you’ve got me, that I have loved you, and I always will.

And Taeyongie-hyung, my dear June groom, Taeyongie-hyung, when you come back from your ashes, when you rise from it like a phoenix, please do not doubt me anymore, for I have proven it to you. Everything you ever doubt someone will ever do to you. Please stop thinking that you can hurt me, for you can never. Please stop thinking you never deserve such loyalty, for my devotion is one of the little things I can give you. Please stop loving yourself for me, love you for yourself, for I don’t want when the role was flipped around and I had to be the one who leaves, that you couldn’t find a reason to love.

I want you to love, yourself, you. Me. I want you to love for I’m sure you exist only just to be loved. What is there not to love about you? If they can’t find it, then they’re blind, and I wish that their red string of fate will never bind. Please, when you come back, and hopefully I will be the first one you see when you do, please realize, and never forget, that you’re so easy to love. Because me, because I, I don’t need that much to love you, just myself, me and my heart and my soul and my body, and I have nothing else in me but my utmost loyalty, to love you. My dear child of July. My dear, dear, June groom, my fate, my Taeyongie-hyung.

“I love you,” I said, cradling your bottle closer to my heart.

Tonight, approximately eight seconds to midnight, is June 30th. And tomorrow, when tomorrow comes, it’s going to be July 1st. So I sit up and I bring your bottle to my face, right in front of my eyes. I look at it, I look at you, million pieces of stars. I shake the bottle a little, you glimmer, you tinker. I imagined you’re saying it back to me, “I love you, too.”

Now, 5 second to midnight, is June 30th. And tomorrow, tomorrow, July 1st that’s about to come, is your birthday. So I kiss you, just like any other year, on the cool glass that houses you. I’m not struggling to fight back my tears. All I can and want to fight is you. And I kiss you, praying that soon you will come back true, praying that once you do, I will still be twenty-two.

Now, 1 second to midnight. Once I say this, it’s going to be July 1st. So I say this to you, my fate, Taeyongie-hyung. My June groom, Lee Taeyong,

“Happy birthday.”

And I promise you, whatever you are, however you are, I will still love you anyway. Just please, please, save me by coming back to me one day.

“Happy birthday.”

This shall not be our goodbye.


End file.
